


The Waiting

by kathryne



Series: Kiss and Cry [3]
Category: Grace and Frankie (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-12
Updated: 2017-10-12
Packaged: 2019-01-16 06:52:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12337698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kathryne/pseuds/kathryne
Summary: Five hundred words to the prompt 'A kiss in the dark.'  Follows on from 'The Moment.'





	The Waiting

**Author's Note:**

> [bonus background music](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q1MmYVcDyMs)

Grace can't sleep.

It's too late for an Ambien, which would leave her groggy and disconnected all morning. She doesn't want to lose any time to not being present. But she's not getting to sleep without help, and the bottle of vodka in the freezer is calling. A drink or two and maybe she can curl herself around the warmth in her belly, never mind the rest of her cold bed.

She doesn't need to turn a light on; she feels her way step by step to the flickering of the television, its muted tone creepy rather than reassuring. But Frankie still insists, and Grace can't bring herself to argue. Down the stairs and around the corner and she reaches for the freezer, her hand already anticipating the smooth handle, the icy bottle. Then the shadows shift behind her and she spins around with an undignified yelp.

"Grace?" Frankie says uncertainly, and Grace sags back in relief. "What are you doing up?"

"Nothing, I..." She steps away from the freezer. "What are you doing in here?" she asks instead, turning the scrutiny around.

"Oh, well, just." Frankie shrugs. "Thinking about what I still gotta do. Making lists."

If Grace squints, she can see a pencil and a pad of paper on the coffee table. But Frankie's skittish, hugging herself and hovering just out of Grace's reach, and – "In the _dark_?" Grace demands, skeptical of Frankie's ability to see in light this low if nothing else.

"Yeah." Frankie sinks back down onto the couch. She picks up the pencil and paper and lowers them again without doing anything. "It's easier in here. Away from the boxes."

They're surrounded by boxes of vibrators, but Grace doesn't point that out. She's found herself avoiding the studio too, unnerved by how different its current messy state seems. She got used, somehow, to Frankie's usual level of chaos, but the disorder of her surroundings now is... purposeful. Threatening. She glances at the freezer again, then sighs and goes to put the kettle on.

"There's no rush, you know," she says carefully, putting caffeine-free teabags into two mugs. She grabs the squeezable honey bear and squirts a generous dollop into the bottom of one. "It's not like you have to break a lease, or – or be out by a certain date." The kettle boils. She pours the water.

"Three years you've been dying to get rid of me," Frankie says, her voice just short of joking. "Aren't you counting the days?"

Grace walks over and sets the sweetened tea on a coaster in front of Frankie. She cups Frankie's chin, her skin cool against Grace's tea-warmed fingers. "Not exactly," she says, brushing a kiss against Frankie's cheek, then straightens, waving Frankie's wild late-night curls away where they try to cling to her own mussed hair. She presses her mug of tea against her breastbone, letting its heat seep through the silk of her pyjama shirt, and turns quickly towards the stairs. "Good luck with your lists."


End file.
